


Flame and the Fury

by Sand_Cursive



Category: Motorcity (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 04:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17912237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sand_Cursive/pseuds/Sand_Cursive
Summary: SPN AU in that it is a pair of bros on a demon-hunting road trip in America. Closer to present day than Motorcity.Mike and Chuck fall ass-backwards into hunting demons as a result of some very careless house-sitting.





	Flame and the Fury

“NooooooOOOOOOOOOO!”

That was a scream, growing furiously in volume and heading directly down the hallway towards him. Mike looked up from where he’d been crouched by the window, running a finger along gouge marks in the frame. A tall figure, all pointed edges and slender, came slamming full-force into him. The impact didn’t slow Chuck at all, his short nails already scratching fruitlessly at the window latch.

“C’mon Mikey, it’s time to go!” He screeched, still working at the rusted metal.

Mike stood slowly, staring down the dark hallway that Chuck had just come barreling out of. It was silent. Familiar. It fact, all evidence to the contrary (Chuck), it was doing a very remarkable job of behaving like a normal hallway.

He took an easy step forwards and Chuck’s hand immediately shot out, closing on his wrist. Small, bright red scratches were still visible on his forearm. Man, those raccoons had _really_ surprised them. Well, at least the cellar was clear now. Probably.

“No way! We are NOT going back down there!” Chuck exclaimed, his other hand still clawing desperately at the mechanism.

Mike turned to him with a good-natured grin. “Not ‘we’. I’m just going to go check things out real quick. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Chuck did not look reassured, pulling Mike down so he could hiss in his face. “Oh no! There is NO way you’re leaving me alone in here! It is a _demon_. We’re Leaving.”

Mike looked down at the scratches on Chuck’s arm, and shook his grip off to drop that hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, man. Jacob’ll kill me if I don’t make sure everything’s copacetic in there.” Then he stepped easily backwards and dashed down the hall, leaving Chuck moaning audibly behind him. “Jacob’s already gong to kill you!” he was yelling. “Let’s just cut our losses and get out of here!”

Chuck’s desperate call faltered in his throat. Mike had barely taken a few steps into the hall before he’d been swallowed by the darkness, his deep navy jacket and burnished brown hair fading like so much smoke on a starless night. He made one more valiant attempt with the window.

“This is crazy. _He’s_ crazy! If he’d just slow down and _listen_ . . .” he muttered, bending down to pick up the flashlight Mike had left, forgotten. “Oh god, that means _I’m_ crazy.”

He closed his eyes, the weight of the light solid and futile in his hands. Three quick, short breaths just shy of hyperventilating, and then he rushed forwards into the dark.

It was a liquid thing, blackness that poured thick and fast from that point at the far East of the house. His breaths were coming faster now, barely staving off the panic. Understandable, he figured, given what he’d seen. He shivered involuntarily, (a movement that traveled the whole considerable length of him), and not from the temperature. He’d never felt so unbearably hot in an unheated house before. Right in the middle of winter.

He couldn’t see his hands anymore. Even if he turned towards the open room he’d left, suddenly so far behind him for all those steps he’d taken, and held his hand up against that warm square of light. They were featureless in the brightness. He felt, suddenly, like he’d been disappeared. Like the dark had hidden him away from the world.

Oh man, he was going to _die_ here.

He gave the open doorway one last, yearning look, then turned on the flashlight.

Trudging silently along, the beam swept casually in front of him, then carelessly along the walls on either side. The doors were too far apart for the size of the house. It felt like a minute to pass from one to the next, like he was walking against the direction of a moving track. He could feel his heartbeat ramping in his chest.

The door at the end of the hallway was closed.

He swallowed audibly, and his fingers picked reflexively at a stray thread on his jeans. He couldn’t go back in there. But Mike. . .

He didn’t have a choice.

He wrapped the hem of his long shirt around one hand, layering fabric as insulation before he gripped the doorknob. He could already feel the searing heat, spreading eagerly towards his palm. He gave a quick, jerky twist, and threw the door open.

“Oh, hey Chuck. I said you didn’t have to come.”

He blinked owlishly as his eyes adjusted to the strange light. So much was going on in the room that it took him a minute to find Mike, hanging upside-down with his legs sloppily trussed. “Could you give me a hand here, buddy?”

Chuck frowned at him, then spun wildly in place, eyes darting madly. He hadn’t had much of a chance to see it earlier. The room was a mess, wanton debris littered throughout like someone had driven a refuse truck from a construction site and gotten lost on the way to the dump. The walls and ceiling were perfectly intact, although he couldn’t guess at the state of the windows, utterly drowning in fliers and posters announcing shows post-dated up to three years in faded type. A portion of the floor was chipped. From here he could see the chair in the kitchen that had accumulated a small mound of drifting dust and plaster. Well, at least now they knew where it was coming from.

There were weird clumps of rotted vegetation clustered between the debris, and numerous crushed aluminum cans with neon print that was impossible to read. A full corner of iron girding was propped in the corner from which Mike dangled, casually unbothered. The electrical ropes that bound him were slung carelessly over one edge, and attached to a boulder of impossible size given the dimensions of the door frame.

But that was it. Just a mess of industrial garbage. There was no movement, no flashes of light from the corner of his eye breaking the unreal purple glow of the room. “Where’s . . .” he started, picking his way cautiously forward. “Where’s the —?”

“Gone for the moment,” Mike offered with an easy grin.

“But gone where?”

Mike shrugged, looking entirely too nonchalant for someone dressed as the catch of the day. “Away from here. For now.” He paused. “We should hurry, maybe.”

Chuck stepped carefully through the piles of debris; broken glass, splintered boards, what looked like a half-slab of concrete. He accidentally kicked a plastic tumbler and nearly gagged as the lid came flying off. Had something _died_ in there? Electing not to look too closely, he wandered through until he found a twisted metal rod, sharp and misshapen at the end and looking a little like it had been pulled apart. _Horrifying_. He dropped the flashlight to carry it over in both hands, wrapping as much of it as he could in his shirt.

“To be clear,” he said, lifting his knees comically high as he picked his way towards Mike, “What were you going to do if I didn’t come? Try to sweat your way out of this mess?”

Mike crossed his arms over his chest and said, with easy confidence, “I would have thought of something.”

“Like what, exactly?” Chuck pressed quietly, already working his way through the cord.

Mike turned to look at him, leaning comfortably against the metal and smiling audaciously like it wasn’t hot enough to fry an egg. “I don’t know yet. Good thing you’re here.”

He huffed at the bangs in his face and sawed harder, the warmth of the metal scalding him through all the layers of fabric on his hand. “Come on, come on, come on comeoncomeon!” Mike just lay watching him, cool-as-you-please as sweat trickled down into his scalp. The arrogant, handsome _bastard_.

When the cable finally snapped, Chuck dropped the metal with a groan, gingerly unclenching his hand. Mike slid easily onto his hands, springing upwards and back in a feat of unbelievable coordination. Chuck tried to scowl at him, but the effect was somewhat ruined by his nervous energy. And slack jaw.

“Okay, now let’s go!” he tried desperately, failing to contain the whine.

Mike shimmied his legs out of the loose cords. “Right behind you Chuckles!”

“Don’t you _Chuckles_ me, Mike! I said we should _leave_ —” he started hissing, when his words were cut off by a low and thunderous voice.

“Not. Going. ANYWHERE!”

The yell wound up to a volume so loud it shook the floor beneath them. A few sizable chunks of plaster broke off the hole in the floor, breaking neatly on Jacob’s once immaculate granite island. Chuck stiffened, felt all his muscles seizing, when Mike dashed forwards and grabbed him. They tripped over debris and slid between what looked like the lower half of a brick wall and an abstract aluminum sculpture. He could see bright, angry red light glowing in its distorted surface.

Chuck whimpered and shrank down.

“Man, you got me down just in time,” Mike said cheerfully. “He’s back.”

“We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die we’regonnadie,” he stammered in response. The heat in the room ramped considerably, the sculpture already dipping in front of them. Mike pushed one of Chuck’s bangs and met his wild eyes. Then he clapped his other hand on his damp shoulder. Chuck reached up for his jacket, flinching and pulling away as his blistered fingers made contact. Mike winced. “Hey, buddy. It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Wha—NO. Mike no, you can’t do. Come back!” But Mike’s sleeve had already slipped away from his outstretched  fingers. “What are you doing, are you CRAZY?!?” he hissed furiously, as Mike vaulted over the low brick.

Mike straightened immediately, hands held high in surrender. “Hey, big guy,” he said, sounding for all the world like he was a few minutes late to meet a friend for coffee. “What’s going on?”

Chuck moaned and tossed his hair out of his face. His lanky bangs were getting too damp to see through.

“Oh.” The deep, scary voice sounded surprised. Chuck could see a shimmering figure in the rapidly drooping metal; deep red and shaking at the edges. He shoved his mouth into the fabric of his shirt to stifle his breath. “You’re back.”

“Never left, buddy,” Mike said, still amiable. “What can I do for you?”

There was a pause, and the voice dropped into a register less alarming for mortal consumption. “Do that thing again.” Suddenly excited and sincere.

“Uh. What thing?”

“You know!” it responded, impatience creeping in at the edges. “The upside-down thing that you did before. With your hands.”

“What, the hand-stand?” Mike clarified incorrectly.

“Yeah! Do that!”

“Sorry big guy, but there isn’t really any space to—woah!”

There was a shuffling sound, then a huge gust of boiling hot air blew over the back of the brick, pulsing rhythmically. The red figure was holding a Mike-coloured lump in the distorted reflection, the figures squashed alarmingly together.

Chuck popped up from his hiding place, hair slicked out of his eyes and held back with sweat. And let out a strangled cry.

A burning figure, all compact planes and hard angles, was dangling Mike by his ankles over the wreckage of the room. Huge, bony wings sprouted from the creature’s back, charcoal black underneath the licking flames. Mike’s face, most alarming of all, was twisted in a tight grimace.

“Mike!” Chuck yelled, unable to help himself. He shrank with instant regret as the creature’s head turned in his direction.

“What’s that?” It ground out, at exactly the same moment Mike reached into his jacket pocket and tossed something right at its head. (Probably a battery for the stupid flashlight Mike had left behind). It gave a startled grunt and let go.

Mike dropped downwards, tucking neatly and just barely managing to land on his feet. “Sorry,” he said, handing off a two-fingered salute to the monster still hovering in mid-air. “That’s a little too hot for me.”

Then he spun neatly on his heel and started _sprinting_. Sweat was running down his face, audibly panting. God, it was hot. Long legs flew over metal bits and crumbling stone, and he grabbed Chuck by the wrist as he came rushing by. “Time to go, Chuck!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Chuck stumbled over the brick, knocking his shin painfully and ignoring it. They ran headlong for the door, barely avoiding a collision on the threshold thanks to Mike’s inhuman spatial awareness.

“Oh my God!” he panted, flying to the open room at the other end of the hall. Mike let out (a very inappropriate) whoop behind him. “Man, Chuck, you’re fast!”

“Go Mike, go, go, GO!” he yelled, speeding up. Then, in a truly unprecedented disregard for Jacob’s property, Chuck leaned to the right, grabbed a heavy vase off a hall table (barely feeling the sting of it against his palm) , and flung it through the window as they came barreling into the room, flowers and all. And slowed, realizing that they were, in fact, on the second story.

Mike however, had no such reservations. “Alright, Chuck! Nice exit plan.” Then, without breaking pace, grabbed him around the waist, planted a foot against the wainscoting and launched them both through wood and broken glass.

Chuck shrieked the whole way down. And then for another hearty twenty seconds while they untangled themselves from the dense shrubbery that had broken their fall, just for good measure.

Mike was largely ignoring this (after a sincere “Is anything broken? Are you injured”, tactfully staying miles away from “Are you alright?”). He stood on the lawn, hands on his hips and looking up at the broken window. “Well, at least it doesn’t look like he’s following us.”

“He?” Chuck choked out breathlessly. His voice was hoarse. “What makes you think that’s a _he_?”

“Well it’s not like he’s wearing any clothes. On fire, you know. Now, come on,” he shrugged, while Chuck gaped noiselessly at _that_ particular revelation. “We should get clear before—”

He was interrupted by a terrible crashing, splintering sound, and then a flaming figure was shooting straight up front the roof, wings splayed. They looked at it for a moment, too bright against the backdrop of suddenly darkening sky, before Chuck had the presence of mind to leap to his feet and try to force Mike away with him.

“See?” Mike said, unfazed. “He.”

“Oh my god, Mike!”

The shouting broke the monster out of whatever trance it was in, and it swept towards them both with one beat of its powerful wings.

“What _is_ this thing?” He managed, before Mike threw them both to the ground. A wave of searing heat passed by close overhead.

“Uh. Very buff and on-fire?” Mike ventured.

Chuck threw his hands up. “Not what I meant! God, it looks like . . . some kind of demon?”

“Yeah, okay,” Mike agreed.

“Okay great! Except, that doesn’t really help us, does it, since we don’t have anything to fight DEMONS with!”

“Hey,” Mike said, sounding offended. “You have me.”

“I’m sorry, are you 70% _holy_ water?” Chuck threw back. “Even a little salt.”

“Of the two of us, I’m not the one who’s full of salt,” he grinned, cheeky and easily dodging the frustrated swipe of Chuck’s elbow.

“I’m serious! Iron . . . no wait that room was full of iron. Silver! Sage?”

“Sage?” Mike asked, brow furrowed. “Like. The spice?”

“It’s an herb,” Chuck muttered, watching the sky warily. The flaming . . . _guy_ , he _guessed_ had circled back to the roof of the house, and was sitting watching them curiously. What was he doing? Why didn’t he _move_? God, why weren’t _they_ moving. Chuck pushed immediately to his forearms and knees, struggling to get his feet under him his limbs were shaking so hard.

Mike frowned and followed suit. “Is there a difference?”

“Is this what you want to talk about before we _die_?” Chuck asked, exasperated. “The difference between herbs and spices?!?”

“Just wanted to be sure,” Mike said, before standing and waving at the sky. Chuck made a quick, horrified grab for his leg, but Mike was too quick. The demon jumped off the roof with a powerful push of his legs, gliding almost casually in their direction. Mike plunged a hand into his pocket, and wound back for a pitch (with _perfect_ form, Chuck noted). Something small and cylindrical flew threw the air and landed squarely in the demon’s face. Two for two.

“Mike!” Chuck yelled, bewildered and half-crazed with panic. The creature was still hovering there, charred bits of green confetti scattering around its wings and looking almost bemused. “What the hell was that?”

“You said sage was good for demons.”

“Yeah! BEFORE you get to this point! And you’re supposed to burn—”

There was a rolling wave of air and Mike dropped to his stomach. He gave Chuck a quizzical look. “Whoops, sorry about that. Hey, how long do you think it’ll take for us to take care of this?” Chuck gaped at him incredulously. “I’m sorry, do you have something _more pressing_ to do?”

Guilt flashed on Mike’s face, and Chuck’s eyes immediately narrowed with suspicion. “Mike.”

“I kind of, ah, have a race with Foxy in three hours. If I don’t show up I forfeit.” He pushed up onto his forearms and then dashed for the cover of the porch. Chuck followed, scrambling on hands and knees. “What did you bet, Mike?”

“Nothing big,” he hedged, crouching up the low steps.

“What. Did. You. Bet. Michael. B. Chilton.” Chuck ground out, managing to sound pissed and nervously peering at the sky at the same time. The demon had disappeared, presumably to perch back on the roof.

Mike swallowed. Audibly. “Just that little thing I was working on last week. With, uh. With Jacob.”

There was a sudden, heavy _thump!_ from above them, and Chuck backed immediately to the door, twisting the knob under his hand with a pained wince. He tripped backwards into the house as it opened, and Mike slipped in and slammed the door closed right as a swipe of long, spiked tail peered just over the edge of the porch awning. He locked and double-bolted. For all the good that would do.

“The Turbocharger? Mike,” Chuck said, looking up at him from the floor in horror. “You can’t give that to Foxy. Jacob will _kill_ you. Twice! Once for that and once for the house.”

“Not if our demon gets us first,” Mike said, almost hopefully.

Chuck glared at him. “Speaking of which, how the _hell_ did that slip past you? You said you’d been house-sitting. Getting his mail!”

“I did get his mail!” Mike said defensively. “You know, at the mailbox. At the end of the drive.”

“You didn’t even go _inside_? God I thought it was weird that all the power was out. And the fuse box didn’t do _shit_.”

Mike gave him a disappointed moue but didn’t actually say anything. Which was, given the situation, wise.

There was a single, pounding knock on the door. Mike and Chuck took a step back, Chuck shooting upright and knocking directly into the coatrack Jacob made one summer out of miscellaneous un-usable motor parts. He got a nasty scratch on top of his others and yelped. God, this thing was crazy unsafe. Good thing his rabies and tetanus vaccines were all up to date.

“COME OUT.” The voice was back to gravel and shifting plates, deep and authoritative. Chuck scrambled back into the kitchen, but the door didn’t splinter inwards. There was just a heavy heat, angry and waiting.

Mike cautiously tapped the door back. “Seems like a bad idea, big guy.”

“Mike!” Chuck hissed. “Don’t talk to it!”

“Uh.” The voice said, faltering back into unsure. “No. You should come out. Because.”

Mike stepped backwards, hands in his pockets. “That’s not exactly a convincing argument.”

Chuck made an exasperated motion with his hands and went to the kitchen, stepping cautiously around the drifting pile of plaster. At least the upstairs nest was unoccupied. He was rifling through the cupboards when Mike came sauntering in. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Plan? What plan? There’s no plan, Mikey! Unless you mean ‘Get the hell out of here!’”

“Should be no problem,” Mike said, leaning on the island and getting dust all along the left side of his jacket. “I think I can come up with a pretty good distraction.”

“That’s what you want to do? Distract it?” Chuck looked at him incredulously. “It can fly!”

“So can birds.”

“It is not . . . That’s not comparable! Most birds aren’t on FIRE!”

Mike grinned. “ _Most_ birds?”

“Look Mike, I know the list of people who want to kill you is already pretty long, but if you don’t quit it it’s going to get one name longer!”

“Right, right, sorry.” Mike said, still kind of smiling. “Look, Chuckles, do you trust me?”

Chuck huffed a lock of still sweaty hair out of his face angrily. “Yes.”

“Great! And I trust you. So why don’t you give me a summary of what you know about demon-types, and we’ll have a plan hashed out in no time.”

He sighed. “Look, I don’t know much. And everything I do know I pretty much learned from watching television.”

“Pretty good basis for an education.”

Chuck glared at him. “Not really. But they do all say mostly the same things.”

“What? Iron, holy water, herbs?”

“Not herbs, _sage_. And yeah. The only other way to get rid of a demon more permanently is to do like. A ritual I guess. A banishing ritual?”

Mike grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. He offered it to Chuck before grabbing another. “You don’t happen to know how to do one of those, do you?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Hmm. So the original plan still stands then. Distraction and retreat.”

Chuck finished his glass (cradled awkwardly between his wrists), and turned uneasily to the door. “Why doesn’t he just come in?”

“Maybe he has to be invited. You know,” Mike said, shrugging, “vampire rules.”

“Then how did he set up camp upstairs?”

“Uh.”

Chuck shook his head, suddenly feeling every bit as tired as he was. “Look, the fact remains that we need to get out of here. We just don’t know enough about what that thing is to deal with it. Not really. So . . . distraction.”

“Right,” Mike said, brightening now that the outlines of a plan were coming together. “So I was thinking —” he words were cut off by the kitchen window shattering, glass exploding inwards and showering them both with burning, pliant shards. Sputters of flame crawled along the floor, licking up the edges of the wooden cabinets and spreading quick as ink. The temperature climbed back up to unbearable.

Mike ran around the island, grabbing Chuck and sprinting back towards the front hallway. Chuck unlocked the door and was about to unlatch the bolt when Mike rammed his shoulder through, splintering the wood and sending them rolling through the grass. His ears were still ringing from that explosion in the kitchen, and he thought he might be seeing double.

Two burning twin monsters hovered in the air above them. Chuck looked to the side. Mike was lying there, struggling to his elbows and clearly the worse for wear after acting as a human battering ram. Flames were licking the side of the house, spreading outwards from the kitchen wall. God, Jacob was going to be pissed as _hell_.

He made to crawl over to Mike, wanting to he didn’t know what. Save him, probably, although at this point it didn’t look promising. Say thanks, maybe, for at least getting him out of a burning building. Say sorry for yelling at him at least. He didn’t make it. There was a sudden woosh, a wave of heat and he could hear a growling, a roar, building up from a whisper. The demon swung in front of him, still not touching the ground.

He stumbled backwards, scrabbling on his elbows and the roaring was getting so loud, and _so close_ , the ground was shaking under him and this was it, he was done for, the earth was going to split in two and swallow him up! A spray of gravel showered his hair as the roaring grew to a crescendo, then abruptly petered out. The ground stopped shaking. He split one eye open and gazed immediately into his own pale reflection in a pair of dark mirrored sunglasses; completely inappropriate for this time of evening if there wasn’t a naked demon hovering overhead as bright as a star.

The mouth under the lenses was painted a deep, blood red, and they quirked at the corners. “Texas! It’s been a while.”


End file.
